


and there was (moon)light

by plaincrepe



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Dream Sex, KuroKen Week, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23667982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaincrepe/pseuds/plaincrepe
Summary: realization1. an act of becoming fully aware of something as a fact2. the achievement of something desired or anticipated.3. an actual form given to a concept or work.Yet, he wonders, he fears - if dreams are as much of a reflection of unconscious desires born from restless moments of wild fixation.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40
Collections: Kuroken Week 2020





	and there was (moon)light

**Author's Note:**

> done for kuroken week 2020 - day 7: realization. 
> 
> 1\. an act of becoming fully aware of something as a fact  
> 2\. the achievement of something desired or anticipated.  
> 3\. an actual form given to a concept or work.

Kuroo isn’t a heavy sleeper, so it’s rare that he ever remembers his dreams. When he does, they’re cellophane shards, scattered in the cold winter winds, memories of volleyball plays and thinking of better ways to move, to receive, to play. Except, it catches him one day, out of the blue, when fragments of dreams start to appear more clearly, but they tumble out of his memories as soon as he wakes up, like trying to hold too many bottles of tea at the supermarket in his arms without a basket, rolling onto the floor, foaming as as they slosh inside the plastic. The pieces of dreams feel more real, physical to the touch underneath his fingers. He tries to piece them together like a puzzle he doesn’t know the image of, and tries to pry out the absent blankness in his mind, or whatever it is he’s been trying to find. But he wishes - for something to want.  
All he can remember is blond hair and golden eyes. 

\---

Kuroo’s aware, on some level, that there’s a logical component to dreams. Dreams occur between the moments of sleep and wakefulness. Chemical patterns, neurobiology, line up charts to try to rationalize the human brain, science to explain the way human irrationality works, but they’re all failed endeavours, slipping precariously through the gaps of structured statistics, numbers and data. Yet, he wonders, he fears - if dreams are as much of a reflection of unconscious desires born from restless moments of wild fixation. He recognizes it, a sharp thrill of sick realization when it finally clicks. Blond hair, harsh and bright like the afternoon sun pinned in the sky during a humid Tokyo summer, trapped between trains and glass skyscrapers. A soft voice that winds itself around his hands, slipping into his mouth, settling itself sweetly onto his tongue, like lapping up syrupy ambrosia at the feet of the gods. Golden eyes that bleed like ichor from the Talos’ bronze wounds. The slick sound of eroticsm freezes Kuroo’s blood, the sound of desire, connected flesh and a choked out moan. 

\--- 

But the dreams don’t stop. They come at night, draped in the unforgiving quiet, rattling into his mind like a freight train. Dream Kenma is indecipherable, a shifting entity dressed in the body of his best friend - his thin wrists, slender fingers and sharp eyes. Sometimes he ducks his head shyly between Kuroo’s thighs without being asked, sometimes he guides Kuroo between his. Sometime’s he’s loud, other times he’s more like the real Kenma he knows, soft and quiet but demanding. But the one thing that stays the same is that he never talks. 

\--

Tonight, Dream Kenma is lewd, pale and writhes in his arms like he likes being touched, begging for more with breathless, open-mouthed desire. Tonight’s Dream Kenma is riding Kuroo with loud, wanton cries. He seems hungry, golden eyes fixed on Kuroo’s face with the glaze of lust in his eyes, wet and shiny in the cast of moonlight. He’s dressed in Kuroo’s oversized, threadbare white shirt, and Kuroo can see his body underneath the translucent fabric, bite marks littered upon his exposed shoulder, trailing up his neck. His golden blonde hair is disheveled, black roots mussed like someone’s been pulling, and he ducks his head towards Kuroo’s neck, nips and bites on his lips. He’s warm to the touch, unfurling of lush azalea blossoms on his cheeks, and carnations crescents dug into his hips. Dream Kenma’s body makes Kuroo’s hips stutter, and his fingers trail blazing fire and heat on Kuroo’s skin. Dream Kenma, unlike the one he knows, is loud, desire splashed across the flush of his face and spit-shiny lips, body pressed flush against Kuroo’s as he grips a little tighter, and Kuroo - 

\-- 

It haunts him. He doesn’t realise it until later, but it’s the very last time with Dream Kenma. This time, he comes in Kuroo’s favorite form, the carefully constructed one, the one that’s most like his own Kenma, the real one, the one that's not a manifestation of his subconscious desire, drawn and animated by the thick, palpable lust that seeps into his blood. Dream Kenma is adoringly quiet, but he smiles a bit more, softly, hair spread across the pillow as Kuroo pushes into him as carefully as possible. Kuroo lets himself pretend, and indulges in the barely held back cries that he pulls out Kenma with his teeth, his mouth, his tongue. His hands wander, and Kuroo presses soft, insistent kisses over dream Kenma’s bare skin, decorating his back with flowering hyacinth, plucked nightshade and flushed petals of rose.  
“Tetusur-” Dream Kenma comes with a soft, choked out cry of sorrow, and sharp, pure, unabashed desire. 

\--

Kuroo wakes up, but he can’t forget the sound, which haunts his heart, clinging to the dredges of lethargy, bordering on wakefulness. For the first time in months, he thinks only about his dreams. They’ve stopped, yet they circle in his mind, preying on the moments where he wakes up after nights of endless darkness, wandering around the shrouded corners of his mind while long hours turn into short minutes. He wants to know that he can sleep and wake up in his carefully constructed world where Dream Kenma curls into his arms, his own gift from the gods, dreams illuminated by the waxing and waning of the cold moonlight.  
He supposes it's sacrilegious, but since the dreams have stopped, he's started praying at a shrine, for something, anything. Kuroo frantically reaches for the evasive threads of his lost dreams, tries to untangle them from his wrist and escape from the binding of a darkened labyrinth where things that don’t see the light of day can be finally locked away. 

\-- 

In the middle of the night, he teeters between consciousness and sleep, lethargy weighs on his eyes and pulls his head back to the pillow, heavy and inviting. He jolts awake when he realizes there’s a Kenma sitting in his room at the edge of his bed. Dreams, Kuro muses, are either particularly clever, or perhaps particularly cruel. All the waiting, blooms and blossoms into his dreams of marigold strands and roots of night tulips, and snowdrop skin, unfurling in the inviting aches of familiar cool cast of witching hour moon.  
Kuroo takes in this Kenma - a frightfully real Kenma, more real than the last dream he has. This Kenma tilts his head and looks at Kuroo with sharp eyes. He doesn’t smile openly, or laugh coyly. His hair is the same pale gold in the silver cast of moonlight through the gaps in his curtains, and he pulls the t-shirt off, messing up his bleached hair with its inches of grown out roots, and Kuroo watches with a dry throat as Kenma crawls right over between his legs. Kuroo grabs his hand, the one that’s reaching down, to stop him. Kuroo realizes, with startling clarity, that despite the nights where his desires tip into the dreamscape of a possessed man, that despite it all, this Kenma, the Kenma closest to the real thing, might too be born out of the desires of an unspoken heart, and in the shroud of the night, he lets himself want - to touch, to do what he can’t do out of the fear of the real Kenma’s disgust, his rejection, or his fear. A spell, so precariously woven in the sunken depths of his own unconscious lust, spun with the careful fragility of years of dedication, friendship and love. Admittance, a goodbye to his fruitless fancy, etched in the wall of his heart, a soundless proclamation of a wish mouthed to the moon.  
He reaches for Kenma, and presses lips against where he knows Dream Kenma likes, behind his ears, down his neck, his hands wandering as if to imprint the memory in case he suddenly vanishes. If this dream, he thinks, could last forever, he would gladly give up the rest of his living life to spend, with a Kenma who wouldn’t turn away in disgust at his feelings. But this Kenma stops him, and ducks his head into Kuroo’s arms with the same embarrassment that he’s seen on the real Kenma’s face too many times. As if he could read Kuroo’s mind, Kenma speaks, and the spell is broken, shattered by the sounds that echo in the emptiness of Kuro’s room. Kenma’s voice is no longer suspended at the crossroads between reality and dream-filled illusion, like they had been many times before, but tipped into the realm where physical touches were no longer orchestrated, spun into creation by the fabricated pretenses from an appetite too large to be kept asleep.  
“They were real, the dreams. I thought I dreamed that you were in love with me, but I had to check,” Kenma mumbles against Kuroo’s shoulder - and suddenly everything shifts, and the moonlight is too real, and real, flesh and blood Kenma feels frightfully warm in his arms. Dreams always end, but perhaps there was something on the other side. Under the star-flecked fields of pitch black heavens, Kuroo isn’t quite sure what side of the dreamscape he’s lying in, but with Kenma in his arms, nothing else matters as much as this moment. He doesn’t need the sun’s fleeting promises of warmth as much as he needed this, but perhaps all that it meant was even when one dream ends, another will begin again.

**Author's Note:**

> when i wrote this, i fully intended this to be a dream sharing situation, but it sort of morphed into this nebulous, indistinct shape that was centered around the idea of "realizing" something, or bringing that he desired to life, or giving it physical form rather than a sudden awareness. you can read this any way you want - but the intention had been that they were both pining so hard that they formed a dreamscape where they could be who they wanted to be without the rationality of consciousness and rigid grids of their own guilt/shame etc and what they think everyone else expects from them. 
> 
> also i wrote this entirely to the soundtrack of the kuroo/kenma seiyuu yaoi cd track on youtube on loop over the period of 2 hours. so hit that up for an immersive experience. 
> 
> thanks to my long suffering beta who really babysits me more than actually beta-ing so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> beta commentary:  
> all these big words to say that kuroo is horny  
> in which kuroo meets a succubus and it cures his gay angst


End file.
